


What To Do?

by undernightlight



Series: #ProtectMarkCohen [1]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Cute, First Kiss, Happy Birthday, M/M, Pure, striped jumpers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: It's Mark's birthday. Roger's forgotten.





	What To Do?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even really ship them, but I don't mind readying, and I clearly don't mind writing. I like this; it's cute and sweet and a little sad, but nothing major.

He wakes up, and struggles to get out of bed. Bed...mattress. He doesn’t have a bed anymore, the slats broke. He has a mattress on the floor with an old duvet and layers of blanket to help keep out the cold. It doesn’t work.

Early March….it’s still fucking cold in New York.

Early March, his birthday again.

How time flies, he thinks, when you have nothing else to do but watch is pass. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. He faintly hears footsteps, Roger must be up already, he concludes, which is weird, Mark’s always up first. He must’ve slept late. After a while of just sitting there, still cold but knowing he needed to move, he pushes the duvet and blankets back. God it’s fucking cold, he thinks, as he snatches up his glasses from the floor. He knocks over a glass of water while doing so. Great. He gets dressed before venturing out of his room to sort out the pooling liquid on the floor; old jeans and an old jumper, old socks to match. He sees Roger sat, playing quietly on his guitar. Surely that posture doesn’t help, he thinks, as he grabs a dry dish towel to mop up the spill. Roger doesn’t say anything to him, so Mark isn’t even sure Roger noticed him. He doesn’t mind.

He lays the towel on top of the puddle, and leaves it there, it will all be soaked up in time. His room is without windows, too dark in there to spend the day, he thinks, and goes back into the main room. Roger still slouched in his chair, guitar across his chest, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings. He looks to be in a daze, not focusing as he plays. Muscle memory, Mark concludes, as a quiet melody he faintly recognises comes from the body of wood.

He reaches the cupboard and pulls out a mug before Roger says anything to him.

“Morning,” he manages, and Mark turns to look at him. Roger hasn’t moved.

“Yeah, morning,” Mark replies, filling the mug with a spoonful of instant coffee and pouring in water from the already boiled kettle. Oh, how he loves the taste of cheap coffee in the morning. He can’t remember the last time he had a good cup of coffee. He drinks more tea, but he likes good coffee.

Mark sits down on the couch. Roger is actually dressed, these old maroon check pants and a black band t-shirt. He looks like he’s still in the band, but Mark saw a different face from then. His hair was longer now, messier, not bleached blond. He smiled less too, that’s the sad part, Mark thinks, that he’s just generally more miserable. He has Mimi though now, and that definitely helps. But he wasn’t seen them together, couple together, for….maybe two weeks. She’d been round, sometimes when Roger was there and sometimes when he wasn’t. When Roger was home when she would poke her head in to talk or smile or drink or smoke, they’d been distant. Not distant as in they didn’t speak, they were close friends, anyone could see that. No, distant as in physical. Before, they’d practically sit on each other, but now they sit apart. They don’t kiss anymore, just short hugs when they part ways. Mark noticed all this. He also noticed that Roger had changed earrings, studs now instead of rings. He noticed Roger had shaved clean. He noticed the Roger still had looked at him. He wishes he doesn’t thinks.

“You have plans?” Mark asks. Roger rarely got dressed properly unless he planned to go out somewhere, which wasn’t very often.

“I’m running out later, grab some stuff.” There was still distance in his eyes, and Mark just nodded. “You?” Roger’s gaze flickered up briefly before dropping back, off staring at the wall or floor, Mark couldn’t tell.

“No. No, nothing.” He had no plans. It’s not like he really celebrated his birthday anyway, what’s the point? He’d probably get a call from his family, his mother always called on his birthday. He didn’t usual pick up. He wasn’t sure why.

“A regular day then.”

“....yeah, seems that way.” So Roger had forgotten. Mark wasn’t sure what he expected. He didn’t think Roger would forget, but he didn’t think he’d remember either. It just was, it seemed. He had no expectations for Roger anymore. He just….was.

He finishes his coffee quicky, downing it in as few gulps as possible, and stood to put his mug in the sink. The dishes were piling up. He should do them. Later, he decided. But what to do until later was the question. He had nothing to do. He could go get more footage for his film, but it was cold out and he didn’t want to get ill. He could write some more on his screenplay, but he’d forgotten where he was up to, and it would take time to find it again. Maybe he’d wash the dishes now.

He pushes up his sleeves and begins to run the tap. He has to wait for the water to warm, a minute or so, before putting in the plug and letting drops of washing liquid fall in. He started with his mug, and worked through all the glasses to plates and bowls, then to pots and pans and cutlery last. All their pots and pans were there, so it was good that he decided to wash them, or they’d have to way to cook dinner, if they had anything to cook….he should probably go the store. He didn’t really have a lot of money. He also didn’t want to leave the apartment. If Roger went out, like he said he would, he’d give him his money and ask him to pick something up for dinner.

It wasn’t long before Roger did go out.

“I’m leaving,” he’d said, abruptly, startling Mark slightly.

“Wait, I’ll give you some money for dinner.” He was in the process of drying his soapy hands when Roger waved him off.

“I’ll sort it.” Roger shrugged on his jacket and left. Mark just watched him leave. Now, he’s alone, and he begins washing dishes again. He finishes quickly, leaving them of the side to dry. He’ll put them away later. But what to do until later was the question. He changes his mind, getting a clean towel, and he begins drying them, putting them away in their place. He sings quietly under his breath. He sings that song that Roger was playing, an old one from the band days, he realises. It seemed it was a melody he couldn’t place at that time when Roger played it, but it subconsciously registered. He didn’t even realise he still knew the words to that song. Roger wrote it, he remembered, and he’d been so proud of it, he’d played it constantly for a week at least. Mark heard it every hour, and it annoyed him slightly, but it made him happy, so Mark smiled along, sometimes sang along under his breath too.

That was a long time ago, he realises, as he puts away the last mug. Now what? Maybe he should go out, fresh air….no. If he really needs fresh air, he’ll sit on the fire escape. That will be enough.

His mother does call. He doesn’t pick up, and it went to voicemail, so he sits down next to the receiver and listens:

Mark, it’s your mother. Happy Birthday sweetie. I do wish you were coming home for your birthday, but I know that’s not always possible. Are you having a party? You better be celebrating with your friends. 

Yeah….sure.

How is everyone? That Maureen still a lesbian?

He hears his dad shout in the background. Yes, he says to himself, still a lesbian.

Ignore your father, he’s watching last night’s game. His team is losing. But, since he sort of brought it up, you found yourself a girlfriend? You know, Maureen isn’t worth being heartbroken over, you can do better sweetie. If you have, I want to know her name at least, since I doubt you’ll tell me much else.

Ha. Girlfriend? No, definitely not. Girlfriend? No thank you. He’s had enough of women, that’s for sure. Men….? Not enough information yet to draw a valid conclusion. But his parents don’t need to know that.

Call me back Mark, I miss you. But I do hope you have a good birthday. When you next come home, we’ll have a little party. Hopefully, it will be soon.

Probably not.

Well, I’ll call you again next week, if I have time. I’m covering some shifts for Lindsey at work, so it will be hectic. Bye sweetie.

She hangs up. Relief, he thinks. He stands. And just stands….what to do? It seems all he does is wonder what to do. It’s strange. He ends up watching TV, splayed along the couch. He’s allowed to be lazy, it’s his birthday. What’s his excuse for the rest of the time?

Some stupid movie is on. He’s not really paying full attention. But he hears a knock on the door, and he gets up and opens it. It’s Collins and Angel.

“Mark!” Tom practically shouts, as he engulfs him in his arms, picking him up. Mark’s arms are trapped at his side, only his forearms having movement. Collins drops him on his feet and Angel hugs him more gently, kissing his cheeks the way she does.

“Happy birthday Marky,” she says, walking past him now and into the room.

“Yeah, happy birthday, another year older Mark.”

“Don’t remind me.” It was nice to see them though. He didn’t expect them, so it was a nice surprise. Welcome? Sure, why not. He notices now that Collins holds a bottle of alcohol in his hand, and he’s already looking through the cupboard for glasses. He pulls out two glasses of different sizes and a mug, the same mug Roger had used for his coffee, Mark had deduced when was washing them this morning.

Collins shoves the mug into his hand and he smells it; smells like alcohol, which is a good sign.

“A toast, to Mark Cohen, our very own resident filmmaker.” They clink their glasses, and Mark gulps down the contents quickly. It tastes like alcohol too. “Hey, where’s Roger anyway?”

“No idea. He left a few hours ago and hasn’t come back.”

“Probably picking up something special for your birthday.” Angel suggests.

“I doubt it, pretty sure he forgot.”

“Forgot? No, he wouldn’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m pretty sure he forgot last year, so what would be new?”

“Oh Mark,” Angel says to him, hugging him, “That must be hard, especially since….you know.”

“Since I know what?” He looks between the two people stood in front of him.

“I….might have told her what you told me the other month, you know, when it was just us sat on the fire escape.” Collins says, and Mark widen his eyes in disbelief.

“What? Not….that.”

“Yeah….that. Sorry.”

He sighs. What did he expect really? It was only Angel though, right? He didn’t realise he vocalised the last question, but Collins responds.

“Yes! Only Angel, don’t worry.” Mark’s body relaxes, tension just flowing out of his pores. Phew. It still leaves a slightly uneasy feeling in his stomach though. He tries his best not to think about those feelings he has towards his friend and roommate. He slips up sometimes, finds himself thinking on late nights and during showers….oops.

“It’s alright,” he says, “but no one else, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, no one else, don’t worry.”

“How are you doing with it all Mark?” Angel asks. They wander and sit on the couch while he comes up with a response.

“Okay, I guess. It’s easy, it’s not fun, but he’s happy with Mimi, and that’s more important. I like seeing him happy.”

“You’re a good man Cohen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

They all sit and talk. He talks a little more about Roger, but he changes the subject, and they’re kind enough to allow it. But they have to go after a while. They’re going up to Massachusetts to see some of Collins’ teaching buddies at MIT and their train leaves soon. Mark thanks them for stopping by, giving him some company on his birthday, and they say anytime. And they leave.

He gets a phone call from Maureen and Joanne, on Joanne’s number, wishing him a good birthday, and a sorry they couldn’t be there. Joanne sounded much more sincere, and he didn’t know what to make of that. Nothing from Benny, but he definitely didn’t expect that, so no loss there.

It was getting dark out when Roger came back.

“Hey,” Mark says, concerned and confused as to why Roger had been out so long, when it usually took a full team effort to just get him out for an hour, and he’d been gone….many. “You’ve been out a while, is...everything alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” How did Mark respond to that. Jeez, casual much.

“Just asking, is all.” Roger had a plastic bag in his hand that he set on the counter.

“I got us dinner,” he says, as he sees Mark eyeing the bag. “Are you alright Mark? You’re being weird today.”

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” He mimicked Roger’s tone, vague facial expression and shoulder shrug, and Roger huffs out a chuckle, and he turns back to the bag, his back now to Mark as he unpacks the contents of the bag.

“Well, I was just thinking that you might be a bit weird with me since it’s your birthday and I didn’t really say anything about it this morning over coffee.” Mark just stares at him, stares at the back of his head and the wonky patch stitched onto the back of his denim jacket; he hadn’t wore that in a long time, Mark notes. “I didn’t forget,” he added before turning back around, a wrapped package in his hands. It was sort of rectangular in shape, with newspapers stuck around in with sticky tape. “Just wanted to make sure I could get you the best I could. It’s not much, but I hope you like it.” He hands it over to Mark, who stands to take it gently, eyeing it over, tossing is over and over in his hands. It’s soft. He looks up, and Roger’s awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He sits back down.

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He starts taking off his jacket while Mark starts unwrapping the present. He’s always been careful when unwrapping things, picking at the corners of the tape and trying his hardest to keep the wrapping intack; it was one of the few things he did neatly and with precision. Roger clearly knew this, because Mark found a little arrow drawn in pen with the words ‘open here’ scrawled. So he opens it there, and it folds out nicely, no rips, no tears. Placed neatly with the newspaper is a jumper. It’s striped with blue and red, both with light and dark shades, and there was white and cream and light grey, textured stripes and block colours. The collar is grey and cuffs dark red. It’s wonderful. Mark is lost for words.

“It’s a heavy blend jumper, since I know you’re cold for at least eight of the twelve months of the year.”

“Roger, it’s….thank you, I….” Mark just found himself nodding now. What else was he supposed to say? This was too kind. “I’m going to try it on, okay?”

“Okay, it should fit, it’s your size.”

Roger knows his size? He didn’t know that. That’s sweet, he thinks, as he disappears into his bedroom, pushing the door closed with his foot. He pulls his current jumper off, turning the sleeves inside out in the process. He shivers instantly as the cold air hits him, so he shimmies himself into the new jumper. He looks at himself in the mirror, full length and cracked, and it fits him perfectly. The sleeves are a little long, but he likes that because he tuck in his hand, keep out the cold. But the collar doesn’t rub, and it isn’t too long and he loves the colours, very him, he thinks.

He emerges and Roger stands from where he sat in his chair. Mark holds out his arms and does a little spin and smiles.

“It fits?” Roger asks, and Mark hears the nerves in his voice.

“Yeah, fits great. Thank you Roger.”

“Happy Birthday Mark. I do have to say, I have great taste, that jumper suits you.” Roger walks towards him.

“I might have to agree with you. I really like it, something I’d buy for myself, so you did a good job.” Mark looks down as he speak, looking at the jumper. He didn’t realise how close Roger had gotten until he feels the his hands pulling at the sleeves of the jumper. Roger fiddles with sleeves when he’s nervous, just...usually his own, not someone else’s. Mark can’t look up, Roger’s stupid face is right there, so fucking close to his. Jeez.

“I’m sorry,” Roger begins. His voice still sounds like gravel, but it’s quiet and somehow gentle, “if I made you think I’d forgotten your birthday.”

“You’ve….you’ve made up for it.” He finds his volume is lower too, matching Roger’s. Roger’s still fiddling with the sleeve, but he does stop, and just holds on now.

“I really doesn’t feel like I have..”

Somehow Mark finds himself looking up, minimising his head movements and looking mainly with his eyes. Roger’s looking down at him, a small smile, close to a smirk but with no mischief or ill will, and of course he looks good doing so, Mark thinks. Seconds later, they’re kissing. Og shit, Mark thinks, as by the time it dawns on him what’s going on, they’re already locked at the mouth.

He jerks back suddenly. Why did he do that? Why, why, why? Oh god, now everything is ruined. Not just his birthday and all birthdays to come but everyday after, he’s going to have to move, find a new roommate; what if he can’t find a new place? What if he can’t find someone that wants him as a roommate? What if he has to move back home?

He feels a hand on his arm, and he finally looks up, clearly lost in thought staring at the floor.

“Mark, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

“Mark,” and he stopped his babbling, “Breathe. I initiated it, not you.”

“Wh...what?”

“It was me. I moved first, I took a shot. I….don’t know if it was the right move though, judging by your reaction.” It finally starts to dawn of him; Roger kissed, and he was too self absorbed to realise it wasn’t him. Roger must think he’s somehow fucked up. Mark is still very confused.

“Wait...I’m confused. Mimi….?”

“The other week, we talked. She’d, sort of, noticed, that my affections were….wayward. I care about her, yeah, but more like a friend. She laid it all out on the table to me one night, and it all just sort of clicked. And we broke it off, she was nice about it, and she said we’d be friends, and encouraged me to, you know, take action.”

“Okay,” is all Mark manages. So, Roger likes him? He would never of guessed. 

“Did I...fuck up?”

“No! No, no, I just wasn’t sure if I kissed you or….what, really.”

“But this, this is okay?” Roger takes steps back towards Mark, soon close enough that Mark could smell that cheap cologne he wears. Roger reaches out and hooks his hands around Mark’s bent elbows, pulling him in. Mark’s arms get trapped between their bodies. Despite what appears to be confidence, Mark knows Roger’s freaking out inside, and he knows because he is too.

“Yeah….yeah, it’s okay.” Mark smiles up. Maybe this will just be a thing, Mark thinks, as he finds them kissing again and he has no idea who started it. But that’s okay. He lets it happen. He manages to shift his arms free, settling his hands on Roger’s waist. It isn’t hot and steamy and sexy, but it’s sweet and gentle and soft and Mark it just happy. Happy birthday to him.

**Author's Note:**

> #ProtectMarkCohen


End file.
